


A Gift for You (We Got You One Too)

by Firalla11



Category: Dimension 20 (Web Series), Dimension 20: Fantasy High (Campaign)
Genre: 5+1, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, Gen, Gift Giving, Light Angst, Post-sophomore year, Yuletide 2020, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:40:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28076346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Firalla11/pseuds/Firalla11
Summary: Or, five gifts Fabian gives the Bad Kids, and one gift the Bad Kids give to him.
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 20
Kudos: 54
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	A Gift for You (We Got You One Too)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [navaan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/navaan/gifts).



> For navaan. I was scrolling through yuletide prompts for something D20 related and yours really stuck with me! When I realized it was the perfect set up for a 5+1, which I’d never written, I knew I had to try. Hopefully you like what I came up with!
> 
> This fic is set somewhat nebulously during early junior year, so spoilers for everything up to and including a reference or two to the boys night one shot!
> 
> Thanks to the mods for running this whole thing! And thanks to my beta, J, for reading this thing over twice and for talking out potential gifts with me! Any remaining mistakes are my own.

**1\. Adaine**

The Bad Kids were studying at a small café. Well. She and Riz were studying. Gorgug and Kristen were both typing on their crystals, probably texting their girlfriends. Fig was writing something, but she was also tapping a rhythm on the table, so it was probably band-related, not homework-related, and Fabian was… she didn’t know what Fabian was doing, but judging by the fact that his notebooks were all closed, it wasn’t homework either.

Adaine took an absent sip of her drink and winced. Too fruity. Too _strong_. What she would give for a more elven tea—

She didn’t miss much about living with her family. Hardly anything at all, if she was honest. But she’d acquired a taste for the tea that was set out with their breakfast every morning — and that was a complicated thing, associating anything even remotely pleasant with memories of her parents — but she’d found that, while it was a common enough blend in Fallinel, it was expensive and difficult to acquire in Solace.

It had left her with a conundrum. Either she could fritter away the use of her jacket every time she had a craving — and what if her friends _needed_ something and couldn’t get it because she’d wasted too much of the jacket’s daily allotment on tea? — or she could find a new tea.

She’d been attempting to find a new tea for… months.

Clearly she’d be making another attempt the next time they chose to study away from anyone’s house.

“Is something wrong with your drink, Adaine? Do we need to have them make it again?”

Adaine startled at being addressed, quickly shook her head when Fabian’s words registered. “No! No, it’s fine, Fabian. It’s just— different.” The last thing she wanted was to make more work for a busy barista. It was just one drink, it was fine.

Fabian reached over, plucked the cup from her hand before she could protest. He inhaled the steam and wrinkled his nose. “Why are you drinking this? It smells _vile.”_

She shrugged. “They don’t have any teas from Fallinel here. I just… picked something else.”

He set the cup back on the table with a grimace. “And your jacket? Couldn’t you just use that? Surely it can make something better than this drivel.”

“If I use my jacket every time I want tea we may not have it when we need it,” she said, and found herself looking down at her notes, suddenly, gripping her pen tighter. “It’s fine, Fabian, really. I’ll just try something else next time.”

There was a long pause. Adaine bit her lip. Boggy croaked softly from her lap.

“If you say so, Adaine.”

***

 _They don’t have any teas from Fallinel_ had been turning over in Fabian’s head since they’d finished studying the night before. He wasn’t the wisest, or the smartest, or even the most insightful person, but even he’d noticed Adaine’s dismay at the café.

“Cathilda,” he said, looking up from his breakfast, “do you know what types of tea are popular in Fallinel?”

“Teas from Fallinel, Master Fabian? Are you looking to have a taste?”

“Not for me,” he said, shaking his head. “For Adaine. She’s missing them, I think.”

Cathilda nodded, expression thoughtful. “Aye, and they’d be hard to find, unusual as they are. The ones we have for your mother I have to order specially.”

 _Special order teas._ Fabian tapped his fingers on the kitchen counter, considering. “Cathilda, do you think you could order a little extra next time?”

“Of course, Master Fabian. Of each of them?”

“A variety,” he agreed. It would work in the short-term, but they could hardly rely on Cathilda to procure more whenever Adaine ran out. He thought for a moment. “Would you happen to know where one could acquire enchanted tins?”

“For the tea?”

“For the tea,” he confirmed. He was sure it was possible to spell a container to be never-ending. That would solve the issue entirely.

“Aye, Master Fabian, I think I know a place.”

“Thank you, Cathilda.”

She’d assembled a collection of tins and teas on the desk in his room by the time he got home from school the next day.

The tins were unobtrusive but sturdy, none larger than would fit in the palm of his hand. The only things they were missing were labels.

That wasn’t a problem at all.

Fabian didn’t have many opportunities to use his calligraphy abilities. It was nice. Relaxing in a way his lessons with Cathilda and his mother weren’t. These were learned movements, but very different from his sword work, and none of the writing was particularly difficult. All the teas had tags; all he needed to do was copy them out in a fancier script.

He was lost in the pattern of careful brush strokes, broken only by his affixing each label to its tin, until there was a quiet knock on his open door. “Dinner will be ready soon, Master Fabian.”

Fabian nodded. “Thank you, Cathilda. I’ll be down in a moment.”

“Almost done with your gift, are you?”

“Almost,” he said. He was just waiting for the last label to dry before he could smooth it into place. “Would you like to see?”

“I would indeed.” Cathilda’s steps were quick and light as she came across the room to him, stopping near enough to peer over his shoulder. “Oh, they’re wondeful, Master Fabian.”

“Thank you, Cathilda. The tins you chose are lovely.”

“And made lovelier by your work.” She rested a hand on his back. “It’s a fine thing you’re doing for your friend, Master Fabian.”

He ducked his head. “Thank you, Cathilda.”

She laughed softly, rubbing his back. “Will you be giving them to her tomorrow?”

“Something like that,” Fabian said. He’d was thinking that leaving them in Adaine’s locker would be fine. It worked well enough the first time. He’d rather not give them to her in front of everyone; they’d make a big deal of it, and his stomach did a squirming flip at even the thought of handing them directly to her.

No. Leaving them in her locker would be easier.

Even if he was going to end up owing a fairly substantial favour to Zeke from the Bloodrush team for getting her locker open for him. _Lockers_ if he thought of anything any of the other Bad Kids might like.

Oh well.

It would be worth it.

His friends had all enjoyed their surprise gifts Freshman Year. It would be fun to surprise them all again.

***

There was a collection of tins of teas in Adaine’s locker, labelled neatly in flowing elven script. Familiar script, if the gift itself hadn’t been enough to give him away.

Fabian.

She plucked a tin off the shelf, opened the lid and was met with a familiar fragrance, one she’d smelled nearly every morning growing up. She closed her eyes against the surge of emotion that brought her. Complicated. It was _so_ complicated. The memories— the memories were hard but the tea was good and she’d decided — was still deciding, each time she was confronted with a moment like this — that she wasn’t going to let the association with her parents — and their often-fraught breakfasts — ruin a good thing for her.

There was nothing more they could do to her.

She could drink elven tea if she chose to.

She smiled, later, through her whole first cup.

***

**2\. Gorgug**

Gorgug liked working on the Hangman. He liked that Fabian — and the Hangman itself — _trusted him_ to work on the Hangman. Sure he’d fixed it once, but it’d felt a whole lot like luck the first time he did it, even when it worked.

It was better now that they were back in Elmville, in Fabian’s garage, where people were less likely to be trying to kill them.

It was easier to concentrate here, with only the noise of Fabian’s latest favourite TV show in the background. And Gorgug had had _practice_ now. There were things he just understood better after they got back from the Forest of the Nightmare King.

(His parents’ excitement when he came back from their spring break trip with basic artificing skills was— _a lot._ They’d tried, of course, to teach him when he was younger, but he’d been lanky and clumsy and not very smart and he was— less like that, now.

He _felt_ less now like that too-big little kid bumbling through his parents’ workshop, knocking things over and not understanding any of what they tried to tell him.)

He was very good at taking things apart — especially with his Gravity Axe. But he was much better now at putting them back together again.

It was _fun,_ knowing how to put things back together again.

The small screwdriver slipped from his hand, landed on the floor with a clatter. “Oops.”

 _Most_ of the time it was fun.

Even if, occasionally, very rarely, one of his projects exploded.

(Explosions could also be fun. The lecture he got when something exploded in his bedroom? Much less fun.)

Gorgug sighed as he bent to pick up the latest tool he’d dropped. It really was a small thing. So many tools were made for gnomish hands — or human hands, sometimes — but finding _good_ tools for his large, half-orc hands? That was tougher.

He was figuring out how to hold the small tools so they didn’t slip, though! He was. It was just. Taking practice—

He dropped the screwdriver again.

—a lot of practice.

“Gorgug, is there something _wrong_ with your tools?”

“Not exactly?” It wasn’t the screwdriver’s fault it was little. “Sorry about the noise.”

“It’s alright. This episode wasn’t very interesting anyway.” There was a whisper of fabric, then footsteps, then Fabian was right next to him. He was dressed down, wearing simple sweatpants and a tank top, his Owlbears jacket nowhere to be seen. “Would you like some help?”

Gorgug blinked at him, once, twice. “Do you _want_ to help?” It wasn’t as if Fabian shied entirely away from getting dirty, but that didn’t mean he actively sought it out. Unless he did, and Gorgug just… missed it when it happened?

Fabian shifted on his feet, hands jammed in his pockets. “I mean. If you think I _could_ help? I should know— the mending wax can only do so much. And the Hangman _is_ my bike—”

Gorgug held out the problem screwdriver. Fabian knelt down next to him. “So,” Fabian said, turning it over in his hands. “Where do I start?”

“Here,” Gorgug said, shuffling over to give Fabian room. “This piece always seems to come loose.”

“And it shouldn’t be?”

“It shouldn’t be.”

“So I just…?”

“Tighten it,” Gorgug said. “Here and here.” He pointed at the loose screws, then sat back to watch Fabian do just that.

Teaching.

Huh.

***

“Where would one buy tools in Elmville, Cathilda?”

 _“Tools,_ Master Fabian?” He bit back a smile. It took a lot to faze Cathilda, but for a moment she seemed genuinely thrown. She arched an eyebrow at him. “Would these be another gift? Or have you developed a sudden interest in crafting?”

“Another gift, Cathilda. For Gorgug. He should have things that work for him.” And Fabian had finally figured out why they weren’t working when he’d watched Gorgug that day. Their size was wrong. Maybe even the shape. Not that Gorgug would ever complain, even if his things were hampering his abilities.

They wouldn’t be for much longer, if everything went to Fabian’s plan.

He was going to commission the same leather worker who’d made the axe holder for Gorgug — they did good work, and already had the tin flower pattern — to make a pocket-sized tool kit, enchanted with an Enlarge/Reduce spell that would be keyed to the tools Fabian would provide. There would be a little bit of extra magic in the tools themselves, and he’d need to figure out how to make that happen, but first he needed to actually acquire the tools.

“I’m sure we can find something, Master Fabian.”

***

There was a small zippered case in Gorgug’s locker when he went to lunch on Wednesday. It looked like simple brown leather, except for the outline of a tin flower on the front of the case that matched the one on his axe holster.

It was heavy for its size, contents clinking faintly as he picked it up and unzipped it. It was a tool kit full of tiny tools, small enough that he could put the whole thing in his pocket, if he wanted.

That was… interesting? He wasn’t sure how helpful they would be — they were _tiny_ tools — but he tugged a wrench free from the kit—

And fumbled briefly when it resized in his hand, until it was big enough to fit comfortably, a solid weight behind it.

_Awesome._

He pulled the screwdriver free and grinned when it also grew to a comfortable size.

_Very awesome._

He put the tip of the screwdriver back in its slot to test it — it shrank as he did, until it fit snugly in place. He did the same with the wrench, and finally noticed the little note tucked in between all the metal bits.

He was holding an enchanted tool kit, which contained a set of wrenches that were spelled not to slip, a screwdriver with a head that was always the right size and shape, no matter what he was trying to screw together, and a hammer that was spelled so that if he accidentally hit his thumb it wouldn’t deal him even one point of damage.

It was a set of tools that would really help him fix things. That would help him _make_ things.

_Extremely awesome._

He slipped the tool kit in his pocket and went to find his friends.

***

**3\. Fig**

“Does anyone have a crystal charger? I forgot mine and my crystal’s almost dead.” Kristen’s expression was sheepish.

“I think I do,” Fig said. She was pretty sure she had one with her. It was probably at the bottom of her bag, like most things she needed, but she was _almost positive_ she had it; she tended to accumulate _stuff_ in her bag until she decided to empty the whole thing out and start the whole process over again. “Let me just—”

She had no luck just moving things around in her backpack, just sticking her hand in and feeling around. She ended up unpacking her bag instead, pulling out a sweater she thought she’d lost, then a handful of notebooks, then sheafs and reams of crumpled pages until she put her hand on the charger, deep at the bottom of her bag. “Aha! Found it!” She pulled it out and held it up triumphantly, only looked up when there was no immediate response.

Her friends were either staring at her or the table piled high with papers, wide-eyed. Except for Gorgug. He knew what all the papers were for. “What?” she said. “Writing songs is hard, you guys!”

“You should’ve seen the tour bus,” Gorgug said. “This is nothing.”

“Gorgug!”

“What? It’s true! There was paper everywhere. Unless Ayda was supposed to visit. Then it was cleaner.”

_“Gorgug!”_

Fig rolled her eyes as everyone laughed. So she didn’t want Ayda to see her as a _total_ mess. What was so bad about that?

“The glamorous life of a rock star,” Kristen said, still snickering.

Riz pointed one small, clawed finger at Fig. “Evidence says Fig’s just messy.”

That started another round of laughter. Fig sat back in her seat, arms crossed over chest. “You’re all the worst!”

***

There was a package waiting for Fabian on the kitchen counter when he got home from school. He set his backpack down and opened the box with eager hands.

It was a book for music composition, discovered through a bit of online shopping; it hadn’t been something he’d needed to have created. The book itself — the concept for the book — already existed. Fig, for some reason, just didn’t have one… Yet.

He _had_ gotten to pick the cover he figured she’d like the most, and it hadn’t been a hard choice. He’d gone with a simple design, black but for the flames shimmering along the bottom edge of both front and back covers, orange and red and yellow that twisted and curled until they faded to black.

Gilear looked up from his yogurt as Fabian flipped through the pages. “A music book, Fabian?”

“It’s for Fig,” Fabian explained. “So she doesn’t have to write her songs on scraps. Or fill her bag with half-written pages.”

Gilear nodded. “Useful,” he said. “A good choice. Anything to help her be a little neater.” He promptly dropped yogurt on his shirt. “Oh dear.”

Fabian sighed.

***

There was a book in Fig’s locker she didn’t recognize. Probably she shouldn’t touch strange, randomly appearing books, but it had already made it safely past the school’s wards, and she _was_ an Archdevil of rebellion, so. She picked it up to flip through and felt her jaw drop. There was a little card sticking out from inside the front cover that explained what the book was — an enchanted composition notebook, charmed to never ran out of pages — and how it worked: the book was printed with alternating pages, sheet paper to work out notes and melodies on one side, and a lined page for lyrics on the other. She could set it to copy down the words she said and the notes she played and, after, it would let her rearrange things on the page however she liked, just by touch. It would all change magically; she wouldn’t have to spend all that time writing and erasing or ripping out pages when she got frustrated. She could just— play. And the book would keep track for her.

It was _perfect._

She hurriedly got her crystal out to text Gorgug. _Did you do this?_

_What?_

_This!_ She attached a picture of the book.

_I don’t know what that is_

Okay. Not Gorgug then. Who else would have—?

_Did you ask Fabian?_

Fabian? He _was_ awfully quiet when she emptied her backpack over the food court table. And it wouldn’t be the first time he’d snuck a gift for her into her locker — and she _was_ going to find out how he was doing that; it seemed like a fun trick — so it was totally possible he’d done it again.

Huh.

She closed the book with gentle fingers, watched the flames on the cover as they seemed to dance and twirl.

_Huh._

Maybe she’d write him a song.

***

**4\. Kristen**

It was mid-fall, but there was already a winter chill in the air, and Kristen, who wore summer clothes as long and as often as she could, and hadn’t checked the temperature before she got dressed that morning, was in no way prepared for the change.

She rubbed her upper arms, trying to generate some sort of heat. _Why_ were they waiting for Adaine and Riz out in the wind and not in the warm halls of the school? Or even in the Hangvan. It was warm in there and _cold_ out here and she was shivering—

“Are you alright?”

Kristen whirled to face Fabian. He was looking at her with something approaching concern, glancing briefly at her bare arms before settling on her face.

“Fine! Just a little chilly. It’s cold today!”

“It is,” he said, nodding slowly. “And you don’t have a spell to keep you warm?”

Kristen shook her head. That wasn’t really her thing.

The next thing she knew, Fabian was settling his letter jacket on her shoulders. It was _blessedly_ warm. She pulled it tighter around herself even as she blinked at him. “I— thank you? But what about you?”

He flashed her a bright smile “It’s alright,” he said. “I have my sheet! And the warmth of a fire elemental inside me. A little chill won’t bother me.”

She was… pretty sure that wasn’t how that worked. Then again, she didn’t know anyone _else_ who’d danced with a fire elemental, so. Maybe he was the expert.

“You can give it back when we get to the Hangvan, if you’re worried,” he said, and she resolved to do just that.

In the meantime, though, she’d be leeching every scrap of heat from the fabric that she could.

***

“Mama?” Fabian said, ducking his head into Hallariel’s room. “Do we still have that fabric from grandpapa? From our last visit?”

“Fabric, darling? Whatever do you need fabric for?”

“A present, mama. If it would it be alright if I used some?”

Hallariel waved an absent hand. “Of course, of course. You know whatever you need is yours. And a present! How wonderful. I think Cathilda put it away when we returned to the manor. You’ll have to ask her where it is.”

Fabian nodded. “I will. Thank you, mama!”

He didn’t know the first thing about sewing, but it would be no trouble at all to find someone who did. And being elven-woven fabric, anything made from it would be comfortable, and it would take and hold spell magic very well.

All he had to do now was _find_ it.

Or Cathilda. Probably Cathilda.

He set off down the hall.

***

There was a pile of fabric in Kristen’s locker when she went to drop her jacket off. She’d resigned herself to wearing a jacket while travelling between Aguefort and the Manor, but she was _not_ wearing it inside. She was a t-shirt person, not a jacket person.

The pile of fabric though… It was a darker shade of blue, and it was almost warm to the touch when she brushed her finger against it. She tugged a corner, pulled a hat free from the pile, then a scarf, then a pair of gloves. A little tag fluttered to the floor. She bent to scoop it up, holding the fabric carefully away from the ground. The little tag said all of the things were spelled to always be cozy and comfortable, warm without ever getting too hot, and. Well. Maybe she could be a hat person _and_ a t-shirt person. It was all made from some of the softest material she’d ever felt. As soft as the sheets they slept on in Fallinel, even, when they visited Fabian’s family—

Oh.

Fabian.

That was sweet.

She tugged the hat on, hesitated, the slipped the rest into her backpack. Just in case.

***

**5\. Riz**

Riz put the last of a handful of pins in the board and stepped back to stretch, blinking through an unexpected yawn. It was late — or early, maybe — and before his latest breakthrough on his case he’d been hunched over his desk for— hours, maybe? A long time, at least. A very long time. He—

—stiffened at the faint scraping sound from the far room. It ended as abruptly as it began.

He forced himself to relax, to breathe through the sudden tension in his limbs. It was nothing. It was fine. It was just— late. He was tired. And he’d already gotten rid of the mirror, besides; it was the first thing he’d done when he stepped foot in his office again, before he’d set to righting the rest of the space. So. It was just the wind. Or just the building. It was an older building; there were going to be strange noises. Creaking and groaning and maybe the pipes rattling. It was a _normal building_ with _normal sounds._ And if it _wasn’t_ a normal sound, he could handle it. He could handle a whole lot more now than he could the night Baron—

“What’s wrong, The Ball?”

Riz jumped, hand going to the Arcubus at his hip, gaze snapping to the sound of the new noise— Fabian, who was watching him now, brow faintly furrowed, from his position on the old, ratty couch, where he’d been for— also hours, maybe? Since they’d had dinner, anyway, however long ago that was.

Riz pulled his hand away from his gun. “Oh, uh. It’s nothing, Fabian. I thought I heard something? But. It was nothing. It’s fine.”

Fabian was silent. Riz shifted under his thoughtful gaze. It was a new thing, that thoughtfulness, that weight. The search for the Nightmare King’s Crown had changed them all in little and not-so-little ways, and Fabian? Fabian was definitely a little wiser than when they first met. A little more willing to show he cared. More willing to spend time with Riz now, and Riz wouldn’t say he was grateful for that, but. It was… easier. To spend time in his office with someone else there, even though he usually got so caught up in the case he was working on that they didn’t end up speaking much.

It was easy with Adaine, who could just as easily get lost in her own work. It was more difficult with the rest of the Bad Kids. Fig was noisy — she preferred working out melodies on her bass to sitting in the quiet, and that was good; it blocked out _other_ sounds well enough, but sometimes it made it hard to concentrate. Kristen was accidentally clumsy — the last time she was in his office, she knocked a whole box of papers on the floor, and then a cup of coffee while she was trying to pick things up, and it was possible Riz had completely banned her from drinking in his office _forever._ Gorgug was quiet, but sometimes when he was tinkering things didn’t work properly; there was a blue-black ink stain on the corner of one of Riz’s desks that wouldn’t come off no matter what Riz did. And it was fine! He loved his friends! He wouldn’t change them for anything! But… some of them were harder to focus around than others.

He’d expected Fabian to be similarly distracting, and maybe he would have been before the Nightmare Forest, before meeting the elven side of his family, but he was calmer now. Less needful of being the centre of everyone’s attention. Riz was surprised how easy it was to spend time alone with Fabian, but maybe he shouldn’t have been.

Fabian cared about them as people — that had been true since not long after they met; not _right_ away, but not long after — but he made an effort to understand them now. To really _see_ his friends.

And that thought brought a bit of warmth to Riz’s chest, enough for him to work past his embarrassment. “Sometimes the noises… remind me a bit of the night with Baron, that’s all.”

“Ah.” Fabian grimaced, and Riz could practically see the battle the next morning playing out in his mind, as they’d described it to him. “If something like that _ever_ happened again, you know we’d find you again, right?”

And that was true. Riz doubted and worried and questioned a _lot_ of things, but he didn’t question that. His friends would come for him. They’d already proven it. And he’d do the same for them. “Yeah. Yeah, Fabian. I know.”

“Besides, with both of us here, nothing could take you in the first place!” He gestured dramatically, battle sheet flaring out beside him.

Riz laughed, and Fabian was grinning at him, and Riz’s heart was beating steadily again, no longer racing. He snagged some string off his desk and turned back to his clue board. “Thanks, Fabian.”

“Of course, Riz.”

***

Safety was a luxury. That wasn’t something Fabian had thought about until his first day at Aguefort, but it had become _quite_ clear since then. He’d been in real, life-threatening danger countless times since that day. And it was a point that had been driven well home the day of Freshman Year prom. It was impossible to ignore when it was his home, his family being attacked.

Being killed.

(Inhale. Exhale. Repeat.)

He was an adventurer. So were the Bad Kids. They lived dangerous lives. They’d learned to be alert to their surroundings, to pay attention, just in case, and that paranoia kept them safe… to a point.

It was exhausting, being that on edge — that on — guard, all the time. If there wasn’t _one_ place they could let their guard down, somewhere they could relax and think and _be—_ It would be difficult. He’d burn out, he was sure.

But Fabian had his dance studio. Adaine had her tower bedroom. He was sure Gorgug and Kristen and Fig had similar spaces. And The Ball had his office. Was supposed to have his office. He certainly spent a lot of time there. But if he couldn’t be _comfortable_ there…

There had to be something Fabian could do—

“Master?”

Fabian blinked back to awareness, wind rushing against his cheeks as the Hangman navigated them along the long-familiar route between The Ball’s office and Seacaster Manor. “What is it, Hangman?”

“You’ve been quiet, master. You’re normally much more excited when we’re speeding through the streets!”

“Sorry, Hangman. I was thinking.”

“About your Ball.”

“He’s not—” Fabian sighed. The Hangman had been oddly possessive on Fabian’s behalf since that final battle in the Nightmare Forest no matter _what_ Fabian said. The Hangman hadn’t said anything in front of any of the other Bad Kids yet, but Fabian wasn’t going to fool himself into believing it was anything less than a matter of time. Though he tried not to think about how _that_ conversation was going to go. It was too embarrassing to consider. “About Riz, yes.”

“Did something happen with your Ball?”

“Sort of, Hangman.” Fabian shifted his grip on the Hangman’s handlebars. “I don’t think he feels safe in his office.”

“You can make him feel safe, master. You’re very powerful!”

There was a flutter in Fabian’s chest he was absolutely _not_ thinking about. “Yes, thank you, Hangman. But I can’t be around all the time.” And The Ball shouldn’t need Fabian — or anyone else — around to feel safe in his own space.

“You could be.”

“What?”

“I’m just saying. You could be around your Ball all the time, if you wanted to be.”

Fabian sputtered. “Hangman, no! I can’t just— That’s not— What are you _saying?”_

The Hangman rumbled beneath him. “I thought I was quite clear.”

Fabian resisted the urge to scrub a hand over his face. He didn’t even know where to _start_ unpacking that. “We’re off topic, Hangman.”

“Yes. You want to protect your Ball!”

Well. That wasn’t how Fabian would have phrased it, but the Hangman wasn’t _wrong._

(He wasn’t entirely _right,_ either. The Ball was certainly capable of taking care of himself. He was rad as hell. All of Fabian’s friends were. It was just _better_ when they were able to rely on each other.)

“I’m not sure how to do that,” Fabian admitted. Not when there wasn’t an immediate threat. Not when there wasn’t something in front of him for him to fight. There wasn’t anything _to_ fight. Just bad memories.

The Hangman was quiet. The wind was cool on Fabian’s cheeks.

That was right. There _wasn’t_ anything to fight. Not in his office. Not anymore. He knew that. _The Ball_ had known that, once he’d taken a moment to think.

If there was a way to reassure The Ball of that, somehow. A way to warn him if there _was_ something to fight—

_Oh._

“Hangman,” Fabian said. “I think I have an idea.”

The Hangman revved his engine. “Master! I knew you would think of something. I will race back to the Manor so you can prepare a present for your Ball!”

Fabian laughed, tightening his grip as The Hangman sped up. “Thank you, Hangman!”

***

There was a small, plain, unfamiliar box with extremely familiar calligraphy on the lid sitting in Riz’s locker a few days later. ‘The Ball,’ it read, and below it, in smaller script, ‘Not a trap’.

Riz still checked it for traps before he picked it up. What kind of rogue would he be if he didn’t?

(It was fine. It really wasn’t trapped. Thanks, Fabian.)

The faintly amused smile dropped off his face as he flipped the lid. Inside the box was a simple black bracelet — leather, or something like it — with a handful of dark stones woven in among the cords. It was nice— better than nice? It was cool. He liked it. He tugged the little card free… and clutched the box tighter to his chest as he read.

The bracelet was enchanted with a modified Alarm spell, set to warm against his wrist anytime someone — or some _thing_ — entered his office.

(It was also not a trap, according to the card.)

There was— there would be a way around it — there was always a way around magic if you were creative enough or powerful enough — but an early warning against most beings was— even a fraction of the peace of mind it would bring during late nights when he was alone in his office— it was an incredibly thoughtful gift.

Riz slipped it on his wrist immediately, opposite his watch.

Right. Perfect fit.

Now he just had to figure out some way to thank Fabian properly.

Time to make a plan.

***

“Okay, that’s everyone,” Riz said, sitting down with his ice-cream at the Bad Kid’s usual table at Basrar’s.

Fig looked up from her crystal. “Fabian’s not coming?”

Riz shook his head. He’d made sure to set up this meeting during one of Fabian’s scheduled lessons with Cathilda and his mom. “I wanted to talk to you without him here. Has Fabian, uh. Given any of you guys anything recently?” He was _pretty sure_ the answer was yes — he was a detective, after all — but sometimes it was faster to ask than to search for clues.

There was a general murmur of understanding. “I found a scarf and gloves and a hat in my locker last week,” Kristen said. “After that really cold day, you remember?” Riz nodded. She’d been wearing at least the hat every day since.

“He got me teas,” Adaine said. “A month or so ago? From Fallinel. I don’t think they can run out.”

“He got me this sweet book to help me write my songs,” Fig said. “He left it in my locker too.”

“This is was he got me,” Gorgug said, holding up what looked like a comically tiny set of tools. “They get bigger when I use them.”

Fig nudged him. “What about you, Riz?”

Riz held out the hand with his bracelet on his wrist. “This,” he said. “It, uh. Lets me know if there’s anyone in my office.”

There was a pause as they digested that. Kristen reached out and squeezed his shoulder gently. Adaine broke the not-quite-easy silence. “He knows he doesn’t have to, right? I can’t— it was _expensive,_ but—”

“I think he knows,” Kristen said. “I was talking with Tracker, and she said— I think he just— wants to. He likes giving people things.”

Fig sighed. “Why not just _give them_ to us, then? I mean, we know they’re from him.”

“You didn’t at first.”

“Gorgug! The betrayal!”

“What? You asked me if I got you that book.”

“But I figured it out!”

“Guys! Focus!” Riz exclaimed. If he let them they’d keep going and they’d never get _anywhere_ and they had _plans_ they needed to make.

Fig sat back in her seat. “Okay, why _not_ just give them to us, though? He already told us it was him the first time he did this. And we’re better friends now. What’s the point?”

“It’s easier to give someone something when you’re not there. That way, if they don’t like it, you don’t have to watch them pretend for you.” They all blinked at Gorgug. “What?”

Riz shook his head. It was true. Painfully true. Especially when your friends’ opinions _mattered_ to you. And they all knew how much Fabian cared.

“So,” Adaine said, and all eyes turned to her. “He got all of us presents again. Did he get anything for himself?”

“Not that I’ve noticed,” Riz said, and he was gratified when they all took that for a fact.

“Well,” Fig said, and her eyes were bright with mischief. “Then what are _we_ getting _him?”_

Riz smiled, wide enough he was sure he was flashing goblin fang. “I have an idea.”

***

**+1 Fabian**

“Thank you for the lesson, Mama!”

“Of course, darling. You did well today.”

“Thank you, Mama! And thank you Cathilda!”

“Of course, Master Fabian.”

He waved to them both, gathered his things and made his way inside. He was greatly in need of a shower, and then, perhaps, he would watch a movie, or see if one of the Bad Kids also wanted to watch a movie. He pulled his crystal from his pocket as he stepped into his room. He had no new messages, which was a little unusual — he almost always had messages waiting for him after his lessons. Usually in the big group message the Bad Kids had thrown together, but sometimes in a private conversation or two. Not today, however. Not a single new message from any of his friends.

It was… strange, but he didn’t think much of it until he messaged the group chat and didn’t get a single reply until well after he was showered and dressed, and then the replies all came in at almost the same time, all with very similar answers — that they were busy, that they were needed at home. Almost as if all the Bad Kids were hanging out without him. Which.

The Ball at least would know that he’d been busy — he seemed to know the schedules of every one of the Bad Kids who _had_ schedules — so that was probably why they hadn’t bothered to ask him.

If they were even all together.

He shook his head at himself. Ridiculous! He was starting to sound like The Ball. That much paranoia could _not_ be healthy!

He flopped down on his bed, turned his TV on. A movie was just what he needed to clear those thoughts from his head.

It worked until lunchtime the next day.

Lunchtime the next day, when he showed up at the Bad Kid’s table in the cafeteria in time to see Fig see him, elbow The Ball, and watch them both hastily shove _something_ into The Ball’s briefcase.

“Fabian!” The Ball said. “You’re here!”

“I am…?” The six of them ate lunch together most days. It was hardly something worth mentioning. Unless they were expecting him to be… “Is there somewhere else I was supposed to be?”

“No! Of course not! Why would you be anywhere else?”

“Right,” Fabian said. Strange. The Ball was acting _very_ strangely. “Do you remember what you said the last time we went for ice-cream? When I asked you about your case?”

The Ball blinked, once, twice, then sputtered. “Do I remember— I’m not _possessed,_ Fabian. I’m just—”

“Who’s not possessed?” Kristen asked, sliding into a seat next to Fabian.

“Everyone, hopefully,” Adaine said, sitting on Fig’s other side. “We did that already. And the Unexpected Party Possession Exam isn’t until the first term of Senior Year.”

All eyes turned to her. “Do we want to know how you know that?” Fig asked, finally.

Adaine rolled her eyes. “Research. I know when all of the Adventuring Party Group Examinations have been held for the last ten years.”

“We made a time line,” Riz added, “So we can prepare for them early.”

“And by ‘we’ you mean…?”

“Adaine and I,” Riz said, “And anyone else who’d like us all to get a good grade.” He looked pointedly between Fabian and Fig.

Fig held up her hands. “Hey, don’t look at me. I study!”

“Aren’t you still auditing barbarian classes?”

 _“Someone_ has to keep an eye on Porter!”

The strains of a familiar argument carried them through the rest of lunch.

***

“Has anyone seen Gorgug?” Gorthalax’s deep rumble carried across the Bloodrush field.

Fabian rose from his stretch. “He was in the locker room when I left.”

“Could you check on him?” Gorthalax asked. “It’s just about time to get started. And it’s not like him to be late.”

It wasn’t. Gorgug was polite, which meant Gorgug was _punctual._ Fabian nodded and took off at an easy jog for the path back behind the bleachers that led to the locker room, mostly hidden from sight from the field. It was late enough that the school grounds weren’t particularly crowded; Gorgug was easy enough to spot. It took Fabian another moment to realize he was talking to Kristen. Fabian blinked. He could count on one hand the number of times he’d actually seen Kristen near the Bloodrush field. And one of those times they were stopping the apocalypse. She waved over Gorgug’s shoulder as he approached, and she was already turning to leave by the time Fabian made it to Gorgug’s side.

“Bye, Gorgug! Bye, Fabian!” she called over her shoulder.

“Goodbye?”

He turned to Gorgug for an explanation, but Gorgug just clapped him on the shoulder. “C’mon, we should go. We’re gonna be late.”

“Right,” Fabian said, and he let Gorgug lead him back the way he came.

***

The third time he approached his friends only to have them break off their conversation at the sight of him, Fabian started to see a pattern. 

The fourth time, he braced himself, approached Adaine and The Ball where they were lingering in the hall before they headed to the AV Club at the end of the day, hoping his theory was wrong, and was _rewarded_ with the sudden end of a whispered conversation when he greeted them.

By the fifth time it happened, there was a knot in Fabian’s stomach that he hadn’t felt seriously since the start of Freshman Year, and he’d almost talked himself out of going to the cafeteria for lunch, but he wanted to hide even less than he wanted to deal with whatever this _thing_ that was happening was, so he marched into the room and sat down with the Bad Kids and pretended he didn’t notice the abrupt change in conversation or the looks that were shared between them, the meaning of which none of his friends had bothered to fill him in on.

He dropped his gaze to his tray, which held yet another helping of some kind of meatloaf. Possibly. Probably? At least it wasn’t creamed corn. He wasn’t sure he’d have been able to stomach it. He ate mechanically as the conversation continued around him, stilted at first before they mostly found their rhythm again. He took a steadying breath. “I was thinking I might go to the mall, tonight, if anyone would like to join me.”

“Fabian, you hate the mall.” The Ball sounded confused. “You complain every time we go.”

Well yes, he did, but he didn’t have to pass by that terrible jewellery store if he didn’t want to, and he did like the pretzels, and he happened to know that Fig, at least, enjoyed people-watching in the food-court, and it wouldn’t be the first time they all went along and joined her in making up stories about the people they saw there. That? That, at least, was fun. 

He shrugged. “It might be fun.” He didn’t need to see them to know there were looks being exchanged over his head. He took another bite of maybe-meatloaf.

“I can’t tonight,” Fig said. “Gorgug and I have a project for Barbarian class.”

“We do?” Gorgug sounded surprised. Confused. Understanding, after a brief pause. “Oh! We do.”

“Right,” Kristen said. “A project. I have one too.”

Fabian kept his gaze fixed firmly on his tray.

They weren’t subtle. Gorgug had never _been_ particularly subtle, and Kristen was a terrible liar — better, perhaps, than when they met her, but still terrible.

And Fabian wasn’t stupid. A little oblivious, occasionally, but not stupid. And he’d been _working_ on his obliviousness, much to his current detriment, apparently.

It was obvious something was up.

And that ‘something’ had something to do with him.

“I promised Aelwen I’d help her with college applications tonight,” Adaine added. That at least didn’t sound like a lie.

“I can— t. I can’t,” The Ball said. And that was odd enough that Fabian dared to glance across the table. The Ball was shooting Fig an unimpressed look. “Apparently I have a project too.” He winced. “I mean. I do. Have a project. A case. You know.”

“Right,” Fabian said. He did know. He was also pretty sure The Ball had wrapped up his most recent case last week. Maybe The Ball didn’t expect him to remember that. Maybe he didn’t think Fabian would bother. Maybe he didn’t think Fabian cared enough to listen. That was— that had probably been true in the beginning. Did The Ball… still think he was like that?

Fabian pushed his tray away, appetite abruptly gone.

He’d never been so glad to hear the warning bell for their next class.

***

Awkward excuses and abruptly ended conversations made up the pattern of his interactions with the Bad Kids for the rest of the week, to the point he was almost glad when he didn’t pass any of them in the halls between classes. It was— easier, not having to pretend that he hadn’t noticed anything. Not having to watch pointed gazes or listen to increasingly outlandish excuses for why they couldn’t spend time with him after school that day, either.

He wouldn’t say they were _avoiding_ him, exactly — they were his friends; they wouldn’t _avoid_ him — he saw his friends in classes and at Bloodrush practice and in the cafeteria, but outside of school? He suddenly found himself with more free time than he knew what to do with. It wasn’t a particularly welcome change. A particularly welcome realization.

Maybe they _were_ avoiding him.

(If they were, did that mean they weren’t his friends?)

(He threw himself into hours of dance after that thought, spent Thursday evening twisting and twirling, whirling around his dance studio until the only thoughts he had were about the movement of his limbs and the burn of well-worked muscles.)

So! His friends were avoiding him — sort of — and keeping a secret from him — definitely — and that… didn’t feel great.

But!

It was Friday, and the weather was crisp and clear and _beautiful,_ and if there was one thing Fabian Aramais Seacaster had learned to do, it was believe in his friends. 

“The Ball!” Fabian called out, catching sight of a familiar figure as they made their way out into the parking lot. “Would you like to go to Basrar’s this fine Friday afternoon? And then play crystal games back in my room?”

The Ball turned on his heel, wide-eyed and lip caught between his teeth and Fabian could already tell what his answer was going to be. “Sorry, Fabian, I can’t! My mom wanted me home early today. I’m really sorry!”

Fabian swallowed. He was fairly certain this was the first time The Ball had ever turned down a chance to hang out with him on a Friday night. It was… something of a ritual at this point, though _The Ball_ was usually the one making Friday night plans with _him._

But. Alright then. It wasn’t as if he _needed_ to spend time with The Ball. It just. Would have been nice.

Fabian waved him off. “Another time, then! Say hi to Sklonda for me.” He made sure to meet the Ball’s apologetic expression with a breezy smile. It was fine. He was fine. He’d had plenty of practice at pretending nothing was wrong.

The Ball hesitated a moment then nodded sharply. “I will! Bye, Fabian!”

“Goodbye, The Ball.”

It didn’t matter if his words came out a little softer than he meant them to. The Ball was already gone.

***

“You’re home early, Master Fabian.”

It was a question, sort of. It was if Fabian wanted it to be one. It was a statement if he didn’t. He hesitated, then hauled himself onto a stool at the kitchen counter where Cathilda was preparing dinner.

“Will I be cooking for Master Riz tonight as well?”

Fabian winced. “Not tonight, Cathilda.” He rested his chin in his hands, watched her work through a pile of carrots. It was familiar, sitting and watching her cook. A steady point in a terrible whirlwind of a week.

“Come to think of it,” she continued. “I haven’t seen much of your friends these past few days.”

“Neither have I,” Fabian said, and he couldn’t keep the hurt from his voice.

The steady motions of the knife paused. “Fabian, dear boy, what’s happened?”

He dropped his head to the cool stone counter. “I don’t _know,_ Cathilda. Everything was fine! I think— I’m pretty sure they all liked their presents. And then on Monday— They were acting strangely. _Everyone_ was acting strangely and we’ve barely spoken this week! I don’t know what I _did.”_

There was a pause, then the sound of Cathilda moving around the counter. He wasn’t surprised at all when she rested a gentle hand in his hair. “It doesn’t sound like you did anything at all,” she said. “But it _does_ sound like you need to speak with your friends. They’d not want to hurt you if they could help it.”

Fabian swallowed. The thought of— of speaking with his friends about anything that had happened during the week made his chest squeeze tight, despite knowing in his head that she was right. That there couldn’t be a resolution to the problem if he continued pretending to their faces that the problem didn’t exist.

Knowing that didn’t make him ready to face it, though. “I— not tonight, Cathilda. Just— not tonight.”

“Alright, dear boy. Not tonight.” She brushed a careful hand through his hair, humming softly. “Have faith in your friends, Master Fabian. I’m sure you’ll find out their reasons soon enough.”

“I hope so, Cathilda. I hope so.”

***

Saturday dawned significantly more grey and dreary than the previous day. It was the kind of morning that was best spent in bed, bundled up in blankets with a warm drink and a movie on TV. Cathilda had been kind enough to bring breakfast up to him, and Fabian was lazing in bed still. His crystal was on his night table; he hadn’t checked it for messages yet. Couldn’t remember if he’d remember to plug it in the night before. He hadn’t even talked himself out of bed to dance by the time the deep chime of the doorbell reverberated through the house.

There was a long pause, then the sound of familiar footsteps approaching his room, a familiar knock on his door. Cathilda. “Master Fabian? Your friends are downstairs. They said you weren’t answering your crystal?”

His crystal hadn’t made a sound all morning. Definitely dead then. Not that that was the important thing. “They’re here?”

“That they are, Master Fabian, and they seem quite pleased with themselves, too. Will you be joining them?”

 _Quite pleased with themselves._ Over what? Keeping secrets? Avoiding him?

He swallowed thickly. Well. If he didn’t go down they’d end up coming up to his room anyway, and he’d rather whatever this surprise visit ended up being happened on his terms.

“I will Cathilda. I just need a few minutes to get ready.”

“Very good, Master Fabian. I’ll be telling them that then.”

“Thank you, Cathilda.”

“Of course, Master Fabian.”

Fabian scrubbed a hand over his face, then dragged himself out of his blankets and into the shower. He didn’t linger despite the luxury of the hot water on tense muscles. His time was better spent dressing and fixing his hair. He couldn’t do much for the dark circle under his bare eye, the one not covered by his eye-patch, but. He was going to look _good_ for this. He was Fabian Aramais Seacaster, not just Fabian, not right now.

He took a deep breath and started down the stairs, head held high.

He was almost surprised to find the rest of the Bad Kids in his living room, despite Cathilda telling him so.

“Fabian!” The Ball shot to his feet. “We tried calling you, but you didn’t answer!”

“My crystal must be dead,” Fabian said, his gaze flitting from face to face — their expressions ranged from excited to nervous; Adaine had a tight grip on Boggy, he noted absently — before finally noticing the carefully wrapped, sort of flat box on the coffee table. “Are you going to tell me what is going _on?”_

“Sit down and we will!”

Fabian shot The Ball a look but let himself be prodded to the open seat on the couch, between Fig and Kristen. Adaine was perched lightly on the arm of the couch, Gorgug in a separate nearby chair. Fabian kept his hands hands loose in his lap, fighting the urge to twist them together like they wanted to do. “Okay, I’m sitting. _What_ could possibly be so important that you all showed up unannounced so early on a Saturday?”

The Ball was practically bouncing on his toes. _He_ was wringing his hands, not doing anything to hide it. “We wanted to thank you. For the gifts. So we, uh. Made you this. It’s not expensive or anything but. Here. Open it!”

He blinked down at the box as The Ball dropped it unceremoniously into his lap. Thank him. They wanted to— “Thank me?”

Fig elbowed him. “Of course! Did you think we didn’t know it was you who gave us all those cool things?”

“I…”

He didn’t want to say he hadn’t known _what_ to think. Nobody had mentioned it — and that was fine; there was a reason he hadn’t given them to anyone in person — but then they’d started being _secretive_ and—

He ducked his head and started ripping the paper off the box.

There was a scrapbook lying in a bed of tissue paper when he lifted the lid.

“It has a bunch of photos in it,” The Ball continued. “Of all the things we’ve done and like. Parties and stuff.”

Fabian was only listening with half an ear, already flipping through page after page of carefully dated and arranged photos of him and the rest of the Bad Kids. At Basrar’s and at sleepovers. Selfies and shrimp parties. Bloodrush games and birthdays. Years of moments and memories and laughter all laid out for him to look through any time he wished.

He took an unsteady breath. “You all made this? For me?”

It was possible his eyes were burning. Cathilda really needed to dust the living room more thoroughly. It wouldn’t do to have his beautiful house maligned by dust.

“Yeah! It took longer than we thought it would; we wanted it to look nice but we kept messing up so we kept having to redo pages and we wanted to keep it a secret because you kept all the things you got for us a secret and that was really nice so we really wanted to surprise you and remind you that we, uh. Care about you. A lot.”

“Oh.”

The last week was rearranging itself in his mind. The hushed conversations and the _something_ that was always carefully hidden away when he arrived. It hadn’t been malicious. It hadn’t been done to make him feel left out. It was just his friends trying to do something nice for him. And they had! It was a wonderful gift. It was— It was—

“Fabian?” Fig’s hand rested lightly on his arm.

Fabian’s breath hitched despite himself. There was a pause, and before he knew it he was folded in the centre of a group hug, scrapbook set carefully out of the way.

“Sorry,” he said, squeezing his eyes shut. “I— sorry. Thank you. I do love it.”

He bit his lip. Someone’s hand was rubbing his back. He took a handful of deep breaths, trying to get himself back under control. He managed eventually, his relief subsiding along with the heat behind his eyelids.

“Did we make a mistake?” Adaine asked, voice soft.

“Not with the book,” he said quickly. He loved the book. The book was wonderful. He didn’t want any of his friends to think they’d made a wrong choice with it.

“But we did make one.”

“Maybe,” he said, and he forced himself to continue despite everything in him wanting to hide it away. “Maybe next time — if— there is a next time — try not to. Cut me out?” He smiled wanly. “It was a lonely week.”

There was a collective wince, a curse muttered too softly for Fabian to catch who from despite their proximity.

“I’m sorry,” The Ball said.

“We all are,” Gorgug added, and there was a chorus of agreement from a group of people who understood all too well what it was like to be lonely, who made mistakes, and who loved him dearly. People who Fabian loved in return.

Fig shifted at his side a long moment later. “You know what we should do tonight? We should have a sleepover.”

It was an idea met with immediate enthusiasm.

“Where?” Kristen asked eagerly

“Here,” Fig said, grinning wickedly. “Fabian’s room.”

Fabian sputtered, but he could feel the smile on his face, and he was sure they could hear it in his voice when he said, “Don’t I get a say in this?”

The Ball met his gaze, expression serious despite Fabian’s smile. “You do.”

“In that case,” Fabian said, smile softening. “A sleepover sounds perfect.”

It did. And it was.

They added another page of pictures to the scrapbook that night.

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't figure out a way to wrangle it into the fic, but my thinking is that Riz could tell something was a little off with Fabian during that Friday conversation, but he had the scrapbook in his briefcase and there was no way he could pass it on to the others to finish off while he was with Fabian, so, knowing they were /so close/ to getting it finished he opted to pass on their typical hangout, which.... Oops.
> 
> If you happen to spot a typo, please don’t hesitate to let me know!
> 
> You can find me [here](https://twitter.com/Firalla1) on twitter, where I yell about D20 and other D&D things!!


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